S.W.A.K.

I have a trunk in our storage room in the basement that my mom had in college.  It’s been wallpapered and even covered in fabric.  It now holds old trophies (4th grade 3rd place spelling bee), old photos, my diplomas and old letters from everyone.  I opened it up the other day to search for a letter I could share with the ladies at my letter-writing club. There were several from my mom and a few from my grandma and it was so nice to see their handwriting and feel the paper they had touched and written on.

I love getting mail.  No, not junk mail or the water bill, but real mail.  Handwritten letters or notes from anyone.  It makes me feel so loved and thought of when I get a letter.  It really is the thought that counts and it does count.

A while back, I decided I needed to try something new and venture into unchartered territory.  I decided that I would try to create a new “club” of sorts and thought a letter-writing club would be just the thing.   Who doesn’t love receiving a letter in the mail? 

So, last night I had several ladies over to the house and we did just that.  We chatted, and ate cookies and I shared one of the letters I came across in my trunk that my mom had written to me after I got married and then we each wrote a letter.  It was wonderful.   I had stationery for each of us, stamps, pens and pencils and sealing wax to finish off the letters.  It was something new for all of us and I hope they enjoyed it as much as I did. 

Each month we’ll gather and write letters and maybe even have a theme or write to soldiers serving across seas, or to nursing home residents who don’t receive mail.  The thought is what counts and the love that goes into the envelope is what will be felt when they open their letter.  The content of the letter isn’t always important, but just showing them that they are thought of and appreciated is what the purpose of our little club will be.  I’m really looking forward to this new little adventure and hope it brings joy to the ladies who come as well as to those who receive our letters.   Sincerely yours, Stephani

The Island of Misfit Toys (a.k.a. The Urgent Care Waiting Room)

I’m not one of those moms who rushes to the doctor every time her children are sick.   I tend to be one of those who treat their symptoms at home first with chicken noodle soup, lots of water, warm blankets and resting on the couch.  So when my oldest son texted me to pick him up early from his friend’s house because he wasn’t feeling good, I checked the cupboard for the soup and headed to pick him up.

Once we were home, I could tell this might be the start of the dreaded flu and didn’t want to take any chances and try the “wait and let’s see how you feel in the morning” method.  For the last three months, he’s been practicing for a musical and opening night was five days away. He didn't want to be sick and miss it.  I called the doctor and when they said their after hours clinic was booked, we opted to try the urgent care office one door down the hallway from our doctor’s office.

We were told the wait time was about an hour.   We chose to wait.  The receptionist asked him to wear a surgical mask and have a seat.  I pointed to the corner away from the coughing, sneezing, oh please wipe your kid’s nose group. 

Within a few minutes of surveying the waiting room of illnesses, we began to feel as if we were on the island of misfit toys.  You know the island, where everyone’s clothes don’t match, the children have on their spaghetti stained smiles, and there is a “help me get off this island” kind of look in everyone’s eyes.  

In the right corner was a woman and daughter both in surgical masks laughing and chatting, while the mother held her rubber gloved hand upright in a Queen Elizabeth type wave the entire time.  Across from her was a father with his 20 year-old son, who couldn’t stop pulling Kleenexes  out of the box on the receptionist’s desk and wiping his goopy eye.  Down the row from us was a family of five, each engaged in their electronic devices, who obviously made a wrong turn into the waiting room because no one even had a sniffle.  Directly in front of us was a young family complete with the deluxe size diaper bag filled with gummy bears and sour worms, dvd player (playing “Beauty and the Beast”), granola bars (conveniently left all over the table and floor), water bottles and pacifiers and books for the entire family.  (They obviously had been here before and knew it wasn’t going to be a 15-minute wait.)  The mother to my right held her daughter who moaned and cried in discomfort while she was texting someone and her healthy daughter continued to play at the water fountain.  And, minutes before they called our name, a woman was wheeled out in a wheel chair with her leg sporting a new cast of some sort laughing and chatting on the phone about the dinner that was in the oven.

It was a sight for sure.  We waited with the other islanders for over an hour and then another thirty minutes on the other side of the island waiting for his flu test results.  Negative.   We were thankful to be released and rescued off the island with our discharge papers in hand.  I guess this is why I like to try and treat them at home first.  Why expose them to the island of misfit toys if you don’t have to?  Right?   He’s now resting under the electric blanket, and being waiting on hand and foot to help expedite a speedy recovery from a virus of some sort. I must say, there’s something to be said about the comforts of your own island.

FEBRUARY VOCAB CHALLENGE 101

Day 10

fluke:  (noun)  The flat, triangular piece at the end of an arm of an anchor.

Thoughts on a Thursday

The wind has made its way into my yard and I don’t like it one bit.  It makes my blood pressure rise and makes me feel like I’m trying to hurry everywhere.  I think it’s fair to say I officially hate the wind.

I’ve done a test today.   Whatever room I’m in, within minutes, that’s where the cats are as well.  I guess I will turn into that “old cat lady” one of these days.  Cats will be sitting at my feet while I hem my apron.

Speaking of hemming. I hemmed some pajamas for my oldest son to use as a costume in The Sound of Music.  I sat and hand stitched them and it felt good to do something so simple with my hands.   Why is that?  He loved them so much that he wore them to bed last night.  (Little does he know they are women’s pajamas.)

I’ve decided to take an iphoto class at the local art school in April.   I’m really looking forward to it.  I know how to use iphoto, but this is supposed to take me to the next level.  Should be fun.

I am so lost for ideas to make for dinner. I feel bad for my family and having to suffer through the same things over and over.  I’m really hoping my lottery ticket wins this week so I can hire a chef. 

I’m thinking that I need to be here for a little bit.  Just a little while to breathe.

photo credit

FEBRUARY VOCAB CHALLENGE 101

Day 9

seadog: (noun) A veteran sailor

L-O-V-E

Today the world will be filled with pink and red and all things lovely.  I think I’m pretty neutral when it comes to Valentine’s Day.  I could take it or leave it.  It’s nice to share your love with your sweetheart and browse through the cards at the store and make sugar cookies in the shape of hearts.  And, I think everyone enjoys having an envelope sitting on the table with their name on it.  But, as my best friend said last night, “Do we really need a day on the calendar that requires us to do that?  Shouldn’t we be doing that every day?” 

I think so.

The love we show each other comes in the simple kindness of our deeds and in our words that we choose to use throughout the day.  Valentine’s Day should be seen in our lives every day by turning on your spouse’s electric blanket while they’re in the shower, by listening with our full attention to our children when they’re talking about their day at school, or by calling a sick friend to see if they need anything.  Our actions and our loving words are our gifts to each other.  Those are the tiny everyday moments that are wrapped in pretty paper and tied with satin ribbons.   We don’t have to call it Valentine’s Day though, let’s just call it L-O-V-E.

"Love doesn't make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile."

Franklin P. Jones

"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies."

Aristotle

"Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold."

Zelda Fitzgerald

"You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly."

Sam Keen

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FEBRUARY VOCAB CHALLENGE 101

Day 8

fell: (adjective) Fierce, cruel, lethal

"Steal Your Heart Day"

I don’t know why I picked brown, but I did.  It was supposed to represent me and be unique to me.   My mom embroidered an “S” on the middle of the big heart and then we hung little hearts from brown satin ribbons from the big heart. I still have it. One of the hearts that dangled from the large heart was made with ribbon and sugar water to make it stiff so it would hold its shape.

I think it was called “Steal Your Heart Day.”  The student council held a contest on Valentine’s Day (I think it was in 8th or 9th grade).  All the girls were supposed to make a heart of some sort to pin onto their shirt and wear it to school on Valentine’s Day.  The only rule for the girls; do not talk to the boys.  If you did slip up, then you had to relinquish your precious heart to the boy who got  you to talk.  They essentially “stole your heart” that day.   It was a clever little contest.  I think I kept mine almost all day and then lost it to a boy named Benito who kept staring at me, obnoxiously, and making kissing noises during English.  He smiled when I said, “Ok, fine. Take it.  Just quit staring at me.”

I think he was declared the winner that afternoon and probably won a prize.  He had the hearts pinned all over his shirt and jeans and was so proud of himself.  He did however, return my heart to me at the end of the day, which I thought was very nice of him.  Most of them probably ended up in the trash, but I wanted to keep mine and he knew it.

As Valentine’s Day approaches, I have fond memories of the day my husband stole my heart forever.  He was giving a presentation to about 60 of us and stared at me during the entire thing.  I’m sure everyone noticed, but it didn’t matter to us. The day ended with a walk and a kiss.  He had stolen my heart and I knew it.  This time however, I didn’t want my heart back.  It was his to keep.  I wanted him to have it.   That was almost twenty-two years ago and my heart still flutters when I think of that day.  It was definitely “Steal Your Heart Day” for me.  I hope each of you will have a happy Valentine’s Day next week and you let someone steal your heart. 

"Steal Your Heart Day" Heart - circa 1980s

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FEBRUARY VOCAB CHALLENGE 101

Day 7

valetudinarian: (noun) A weak or sickly person, especially one who is constantly or overly worried about his or her health.